blue guitar

our world and word are both of them quite blue
you are the one who wants a measured eye
our better choice is to make all things true

you mask the old inside the happy new
the dancing water under the bright sky
our world and word are both of them quite blue

sheepish and quiet waiting for a clue
your motive turns out not to be so high
out better choice is to make all things true

given the option you must pay your due
but not be willing to let one slip by
our world and word are both of them quite blue

out feet have worn out even that hard shoe
but you would have us some such matter try
our better choice is to make all things true

you take your place in the slow daily queue
bear patiently the weight of every lie
our world and word are both of them quite blue
our better choice is to make all things true

welcome verse

to write in rhyme
a standard verse
and keep in time
staying not terse
is most sublime
not the reverse

so i should chime
or else disburse
no dismal rhyme
a welcome verse

mobile leaf

normal understanding has got to fail
when we achieve the boundaries of sense
no leaf will stay in place during a gale

there is no account of size scope or scale
who makes the claim will do so in pretense
normal understanding has got to fail

you hold the whole pacific in a pail
and keep all of mankind behind a fence
no leaf will stay in place during a gale

shapes born of shadow will this day prevail
your epic story has now to commence
normal understanding has got to fail

the victory belongs to the female
you tell us this in utter innocence
no leaf will stay in place during a gale

this fish was caught by head as well as tail
the process takes long time and much expense
normal understanding has got to fail
no leaf will stay in place during a gale

at the station

so when we fainted on those long summer streets
we did not look towards the cold and snow
nor did we wonder what monsters might grow
from those strange torments and tiring defeats
not one of those who on these days competes
to claim that they're the ones who truly know
the difference between actual truth and show
can claim that they know all the tricks and cheats
visions of mercy do not drive us wild
but we are given some sort of a chance
to mark the limit of just where to start
the teaching of the one who is no child
but who must lead us through this final dance
and then remind us that each has a heart

the vortex always wins

refuse to praise the ones who never weep
their hearts are frozen and their minds are dead
we give our love and then we have to sleep

so many things turn out just to be cheap
but we have sold our souls to earn our bread
refuse to praise the ones who never weep

day after day we watch the forests creep
towards the mountains and we feel the dread
we give our love and then we have to sleep

no part to play but still we have to heap
the grain until the last fat beast is fed
refuse to praise the ones who never weep

you turned your back when others had to leap
above the bar and those who failed were bled
we give our love and then we have to sleep

the river's shallow and the ocean's deep
such matters will not fill even your head
refuse to praise the ones who never weep
we give our love and then we have to sleep

diplomatic necessity

you are the winner and so you must play
regardless of the time and of your mood
the kind of weather and the good accrued
by those who chose the higher course and way
of calmer battle leading you astray
was not our purpose we all came unglued
because our spies and agents would collude
but would not issue a communiqué
this is the proper time to say how much
the things that matter can be set aside
for better judgment and for hope of change
we count as victory one human touch
enough to satisfy even your pride
and to retrieve from darkness all the strange

unequal sacrifice

it is the absence that causes most hurt
so much the need to speak of what has passed
urgency requires constant alert

so much had fallen into mud and dirt
we stood there faint both angry and aghast
it is the absence that causes most hurt

so much has happened we could not avert
what once was sacred now become outcast
urgency requires constant alert

truths that a child might carelessly blurt
are now the secrets of a hidden past
it is the absence that causes most hurt

the gift of kindness now become inert
is what the pain so easily surpassed
urgency requires constant alert

an impulse halts and swiftly becomes curt
no one resists the evil of the blast
it is the absence that causes most hurt
urgency requires constant alert

lost or still

you chose your route with evidence of care
but not without some semblance of regret
it did not matter in this winter air

legend would have it there was time to spare
and none of the adversaries had met
you chose your route with evidence of care

never before had branches been so bare
nor had the silent more reasons to fret
it did not matter in this winter air

what had to happen needed none to stare
just some to start and others to abet
you chose your route with evidence of care

this was the place where you had set the snare
the ones who waited did not break a sweat
it did not matter in this winter air

the game was rigged but no one thought it fair
it is observed by those who won't forget
you chose your route with evidence of care
it did not matter in this winter air

at a time of crisis

those who define the moment have to fail
there are no meanings left to coincide
you struggle and you shout to no avail

you scream a little when you feel the nail
yet have no guts to call it homicide
those who define the moment have to fail

your hungry lion shakes its ragged tail
but can do nothing to revive its pride
you struggle and you shout to no avail

you find that you add nothing to the scale
and can do nothing to support your side
those who define the moment have to fail

the rabbit can't outrace the sluggard snail
you'll have to be content to let things slide
you struggle and you shout to no avail

you are the loser facing the huge gale
the last wall's down there is not place to hide
those who define the moment have to fail
you struggle and you shout to no avail

under the magnolias

pale dusting of snow
on the green next to flowers
mixup of seasons

propriety and calm

let us pause now and ask each one to drink
out of the pool and refresh each hot part
calm all those things that had worked from the start
such factors draw us swiftly to the brink
of hasty anger thrown far out of sync
our feelings sharpened made both short and tart
these are the matters chased far from the heart
we learn to act before we learn to think
the stillest waters hide no weary shark
monsters are left behind in children's tales
by all the mothers of the former age
no more this horror than a passing dark
those are the tasks at which the hero fails
but we ban those hard words from the pure page

so unimportant

so many words and not one that would count
listening now to each harsh distortion
no choice in how to get our due portion

an ending comes and each must dismount
even this victory turns to abortion
so many words and not one that would count

pains and experiences we might surmount
but such things never come in proportion
instead to them we make new contortion
so many words and not one that would count

not so still centre

you meet the piping birdies high aloft
and do not feel the need to say a name
while dancers still wheel in the undercroft

the stars sent messages at which we scoffed
thinking that soon we'd have glory and fame
you meet the piping birdies high aloft

singers at distance seem both warm and soft
all of our hopes are shown as weak and tame
while dancers still wheel in the undercroft

others now wear the hats which we have doffed
as each of us now runs away in shame
you meet the piping birdies high aloft

you said it once and we have said it oft
but while we listen no one lights the flame
while dancers still wheel in the undercroft

the last parader his last word has coughed
and all the while you want to spread the blame
you meet the piping birdies high aloft
while dancers still wheel in the undercroft

the way to glory

our only job is to shoulder the oar
take each command and bend when we obey
not even raise our eyes to the display
of all the flags of welcome on the shore
the path of duty always requires more
of humble us than what the posters say
and we don't get much notice in the play
we're just supposed to add some shout and roar
there's so much satisfaction in the task
we're always told by those who say they care
that there's no use in raising one last hand
besides no one would notice if you ask
and you'd waste words upon the empty air
better to wait and act when they command

odd enough on tuesday

a winter waking to thunder and rain
the bland voice on the radio speaks of snow
there is so much these days that seems arcane

as you get older matters seem less plain
the phone rings and there's much you have to know
a winter waking to thunder and rain

all of your efforts turn out to be vain
a hot drink fails to bring back the good glow
there is so much these days that seems arcane

you send a package from london to spain
you set some things aside to learn and grow
a winter waking to thunder and rain

words on the screen require another strain
your mind is daily much more weak and slow
there is so much these days that seems arcane

and yet your life is pleasant in the main
you win a prize here taste a sweet gateau
a winter waking to thunder and rain
there is so much these days that seems arcane

on the job

those who are trapped beneath the solid ice
do not deserve the charges that they face
but we must work each day to earn our rice

things are not valued at their highest price
we do not have to spend much time to trace
those who are trapped beneath the solid ice

there are much better means and sound device
to track the paths and laud the ways of grace
but we must work each day to earn our rice

left long ago to gnawings of the mice
we can't forget the ones who were in place
those who are trapped beneath the solid ice

such as you speak of never are precise
to claim that even our sight might debase
but we must work each day to earn our rice

yet through the year we're forced to be most nice
to everyone who says that they still chase
those who are trapped beneath the solid ice
but we must work each day to earn our rice

failure to sleep

a winter wonder
the frogs croaking so loudly
behind our small house

turning corners

your choice at corners made each turn so close
we could not see the ending when it came
to explain or suffer none could diagnose
your choice at corners made each turn so close

dismal the onslaught of those so verbose
seeking to tell us when the beast was tame
your choice at corners made each turn so close
we could not see the ending when it came

at the beginning nothing was the same
but heresy declared that law was wild
the truer justice took on all the blame
at the beginning nothing was the same

given or taken all they had was name
of honest servant no one was reviled
at the beginning nothing was the same
but heresy declared that law was wild

no simpler form of vision hot or mild
declared by champions in the open field
those who on the dull loser then had piled
no simpler form of vision hot or mild

the parent is not present in the child
nor is the one who understands the yield
no simpler form of vision hot or mild
declared by champions in the open field

a kind of anger to us had appealed
with which our larger income to engross
the edge provides us with no certain shield
a kind of anger to us had appealed

no one had come before the throne and kneeled
although we thought ourselves most grandiose
a kind of anger to us had appealed
with which our larger income to engross

all we forget

all we forget is that we ought to care
about the little space that we control
so recollection fills upon the stair

the solid melts into the grimy air
we view the breaking of the human soul
all we forget is that we ought to care

the revolution was ordained up there
by those who did not wonder at the goal
so recollection fills upon the stair

yours is the portion and the proper share
of what the little children thought they stole
all we forget is that we ought to care

the wider shoulder knows what it must bear
and every actor longs to play the role
so recollection fills upon the stair

it is enough to know and not to dare
achieve the part and then create the whole
all we forget is that we ought to care
so recollection fills upon the stair

good old days

your eyes are focused on the empty ground
and what was there when memory was green
those things which generations have not seen
age has its tricks the young folk to astound
those are the matters which might still confound
the wiser children who knowing obscene
attachment to the passions just a screen
fail to conceive of what is more profound
and so the higher places are possessed
by names and forces not before defined
showing some sort of answer to such brag
from crowds of people who had been repressed
and who till then had been most disinclined
to grant due praise and honour to the flag

nothing begins

nothing begins and we may not return
this is no journey to be made in jest
the only thing that's asked is total best
step one inch out of line and you will burn
you get not one cent more than you can earn
and none of you are sure you'll pass the test
there is no time of ease nor any rest
and nothing new for anyone to learn
there are plain truths to tell under this sky
and many folk have learned them to their cost
but not so much is said about the price
each of the passing moments wet or dry
we have to understand is being lost
and all we know will vanish in a trice

The NEPA/NRCA Poppyshow

The NEPA/NRCA Poppyshow

John Maxwell

The National Environment and Planning Agency says I am telling lies about them.
On their website this week, their ‘Top Story’ declares rather grandly:
“NEPA clarifies issues arising from comments made in John Maxwell’s column of February 17 “
Unfortunately the ‘clarification’ doesn’t clarify anything. Instead it alleges I made a statement which I did not. It also obfuscates the real issues.
According to NEPA: “The writer reported in the column that no representative from NEPA was present at a public consultation held in Runaway Bay on Monday, February 11, 2008, to present the findings of an Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA). The statement is incorrect; in fact, representatives from both NEPA and the Ministry of Health and Environment were present. During the consultation questions were posed to which the Agency responded, leaving it hard to believe that in the final analysis, we were thought to be absent.”
What I wrote was quite different. “There was an apology for absence from NEPA/NRCA which was perhaps understandable .…”
At least one person present at the meeting has written NEPA to contradict their version. She wrote ”… the VERBATIM report of the meeting … should substantiate the FACT that apologies for absence of NRCA and NEPA were received at the beginning of the meeting …” She then pointed out that the NEPA rep arrived late.
It seems to me that the NEPA/NRCA has a duty to be officially in charge and present at any public presentation of an EIA. It is, after all their responsibility. They have a duty to guide and instruct. They can’t do this when they come late and sit at the back of the hall.
NEPA then tries to make me look foolish in the following words:
“With due regard to the writer’s vast experience, we are somewhat surprised by the suggestion that EIA’s determine whether projects are necessary. In fact, we wish to clarify that the necessity of developments is not a consideration, rather EIA studies are primarily intended to provide a comprehensive evaluation of the proposed development, in terms of predicted environmental impacts, needed mitigation strategies, socio-economic factors, potentially viable alternatives and all related legislations. (sic) The public consultation process facilitates the collection and inclusion of comments and concerns of citizens, which are then included in the final EIA. “
The problem is that with these words NEPA demonstrates its incompetence.
In ‘Guidelines for the presentation of an EIA’, (on the NEPA website) in a section entitled ‘Contextual framework’ it is clear that NEPA has the duty to decide whether projects are necessary or desirable. Under the heading ‘What is the EIA?’ the agency’s guidelines say inter alia that: “The term [EIA] describes a technique and a process by which information about the interaction between a proposed development project and the environment is collected, analysed, and interpreted to produce a report on potential impacts and to provide the basis for sound decision-making. The results of the study are taken into account by the Regulatory Authority in the determination of whether the proposed development should be allowed, and under what conditions.” (My italics)
If that does not imply a decision on whether a project is necessary it is clear that I don’t understand the English language.
If an authority can decide whether a project should be allowed, doesn’t that mean that it may decide whether the project is necessary?
It is my opinion that NEPA/NRCA as presently constituted under the Acts which govern them, constitute s serious threat to the Jamaican environment.
When I was Chairman of the old NRCA (which the new NRCA denies ever existed) environmental assessments were unknown to most people. Some of us, however were aware and in our 1977 Action Plan for Kingston Harbour we asked the government to make such assessments mandatory.
Thirty years later, EIAs have become mandatory in most jurisdictions. EIAs have several functions, the first being the protection of the environmental (including ecological) integrity of our planet. The environment includes not only the ecology — the natural systems, or biology — but also and crucially, the human environment. Anyone who has the slightest acquaintance with Agenda 21 should be aware that ‘development’ is Human development and that environmental integrity necessarily includes the welfare of the community as a whole.
NEPA and the Jamaican ‘developers’ prefer to behave as if the only people who need to know about a proposed new development are those in direct contact with it.
Mr Patterson’s government produced a “Strategic EIA” of several hundred pages for the Doomsday Highway and ‘discussed’ it at a so-called public meeting in an obscure restaurant in Spanish Town. This was in relation to a road which has the capacity not only to change the very landscape of Jamaica but to cause dangerous financial damage and serious dislocation to the lives of everyone living anywhere near the road — as I pointed out before work began on this monstrosity. As designed, the Doomsday Highway will devastate an area half the size of the parish of Hanover.
In the case of our Brave New Hotels, the developers and the NEPA/NRCA think it necessary to inform only those living in intimate proximity to the development.
So theme parks with imported camels — carriers of trypanosomes – don’t seem to need EIAs regardless of the danger to our local goat industry. Bauxite mining, similarly, gets a free pass.
Assaults on our very limited beaches are not considered to be the business of all Jamaicans, although three million or more of us including those living abroad, had access to less than 20 miles of public beach 30 years ago and have even less today.
If we divide the (1980) mileage of beaches by our local population the market represents 135,000 resident Jamaicans for every mile of beach. Yet there are people who want desperately to take away what little we have and to sequester it behind high walls, big dogs and men with guns.
The UDC’s destruction of Negril’s beaches by sewerage and illegal groynes is complemented by the destruction of Negril’s reefs by fertiliser from sugar plantations. The destruction of the one of world’s best studied and most famous reefs, between Ocho Rios and Rio Bueno is not judged by the developers or NEPA to be worth public notice. When I showed a Bahia Principe representative, Mr Bailey Hay, my photographs of a sea of human excrement beside his hotel at Pear Tree Bottom he said, airily, ‘Yes, we know about that.”
I was too stunned to say anything.
Environmentalists have been to court to try to compel the NRCA/NEPA to fulfil their responsibilities. It now seems we shall have to take the matter further.
The guidelines for EIAs and the NRCA/NEPA’s interpretation of them makes the process nothing more than an attractive nuisance.
There is no recognition that people must be at the centre of the development process. The paradigm is the Arhus (or Aarhus) Convention, adopted a decade ago by the countries of the European Union and which guides the developmental activities of European interests such as the Spanish hotel developers. Kofi Annan, former Secretary General of the United Nations said of the Convention “Although regional in scope, the significance of the Arhus Convention is global. It is by far the most impressive elaboration of Principle 10 of the Rio Declaration, which stresses the need for citizen's participation in environmental issues and for access to information on the environment held by public authorities."
"As such it is the most ambitious venture in the area of environmental democracy so far undertaken under the auspices of the United Nations."
Mr Annan’s view apparently had no impact on the thinking of his good friend P.J Patterson whose government facilitated the degeneration of the NRCA/NEPA into a toothless paper tiger. A Caribbean interpretation Principle 10 – the SPAW Protocol, is a dead letter as far as our governments are concerned.
A problem which will soon confront us is hidden in our new Economic Partnership Agreements with the European Union and, in the growing consumer movement toward environmental responsibility.
We are in serious danger of building expensive new developments which would be illegal in Europe and will increasingly be shunned by more environmentally aware tourists. Such people are having a severe effect on Spanish tourism and on the tourist industries of the overbuilt and polluted Mediterranean and Dalmatian coasts.
These unsustainable developments will quickly become a charge against both our environmental credibility and our economic stability. When I said that about the Doomsday Highway there were sniggers. ‘The man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’
We shall see.
Copyright ©2008 John Maxwell
jankunnu@gmail.com

assessment of value

those are the costs that others have to pay
but we don't know just what's the final price
all of our senses have to go astray

some have to do enough just to allay
the ones who would have given good advice
those are the costs that others have to pay

the strings that hold us tightly rub and fray
we do not know if their clutch will suffice
all of our senses have to go astray

only the foolish will pause here to pray
in the belief that the reply is nice
those are the costs that others have to pay

a newer method will soon have its day
and we'll deploy a shinier device
all of our senses have to go astray

the choice is always either die or slay
turn into virtue every ancient vice
those are the costs that others have to pay
all of our senses have to go astray

profit and loss

there is no profit in the human heart
nor in those things that most each of us love
the working machine never gives a fart

dead bodies are piled up on the last cart
we give each tumbril a despairing shove
there is no profit in the human heart

such facts were made clear at the very start
but no new signal came done from above
the working machine never gives a fart

these are the meanings that are set apart
those matters that we knew something of
there is no profit in the human heart

the winner and the loser each are smart
enough to know the total price thereof
the working machine never gives a fart

just so we find the wisdom of the dart
and choose the raven over the pale dove
there is no profit in the human heart
the working machine never gives a fart

sine nomine

your's is the voice that speaks within my mind
in the silences i need to shatter
when other voices have long ceased to matter
and all the normal senses have gone blind
leaving behind the creatures of our kind
we pass those guardians whose wholesome chatter
fades into the surrounding clatter
and teaches us just how we were designed
all this is just to measure the one line
that each of us must in turn simply take
to find the one thing on which all depend
not that decision which you can't divine
which leads you always to plump for the fake
and pick the option which you can't amend

another cycle

each generation seeks to make its mark
upon the turning earth and is so blind
for none can foresee what comes in the dark

the dog is punished when it does not bark
because it takes the scent of its own kind
each generation seeks to make its mark

so many tasks begun just as a lark
and then continued in the normal grind
for none can foresee what comes in the dark

no one it seems has ever dared remark
the kind of things that have to loose and bind
each generation seeks to make its mark

year after year we think about the shark
and yet it does not know itself maligned
for none can foresee what comes in the dark

the job we do is no walk in the park
we know how thought tears at the waking mind
each generation seeks to make its mark
for none can foresee what comes in the dark

victimology

those who believe us caught within a trap
are not the only ones who laugh and cry
then tell us to be true to the last lie
while giving us neither a staff or map
your choice is just to avoid the last gap
pick up your feet and roll the final die
let other things delight your waking eye
and other folk can clean up this old crap
this is the fault of those who have not heard
the gospel of the ones who preach out loud
that we are better off upon our knees
just keep our heads down ignore the absurd
and follow the impulses of the crowd
better to do those things that just appease

island story

all that continues does not fill the tale
your understanding is not quite complete
strain at a herring yet swallow the whale

the oldest sailor knows the sea is pale
right where once vanished the most famous fleet
all that continues does not fill the tale

just as the wind arrives to fill the sail
so does the one you most don't want to meet
strain at a herring yet swallow a whale

you cross the ocean just to bring the mail
but cannot pause your oldest friend to greet
all that continues does not fill the tale

those who are brave still might have cause to quai
lon hearing sound of those large angry feet
strain at a herring yet swallow a whale

the time will come when others will assail
the fortress and will break the royal seat
all that continues does not fill the tale
strain at a herring yet swallow the whale

so what

release the word and no one will attend
out on the seas none counts a single swell
few hear one stroke of just a little bell
and very few on just one word depend
those few who one day will praise and commend
at other times have but few things to tell
nothing to say and not one thing to sell
you call and they don't seem to comprehend
what's in the fog we do not have to seek
it comes to us and grabs us by the throat
that is the rule by which the monster lives
avoid the strong and prey upon the weak
eat all the sheep and leave aside the goat
know just who takes and ignore he who gives

old meanings

old meanings rise with every fall of night
and we are trapped by what we think we know
still freedom is the nature of the rite

the sea is deep enough to fill the bight
and nothing halts the river in its flow
old meanings rise with every fall of night

those who would teach us know not of our plight
and cannot pay us off for what we owe
still freedom is the nature of the rite

this is the symbol of all that is trite
a thing that others are not yet to show
old meanings rise with every fall of night

take this for what was given at first light
and yet accepted at the final glow
still freedom is the nature of the rite

we do not see ourselves as very bright
and bow our heads to take your every blow
old meanings rise with every fall of night
still freedom is the nature of the rite

under the wall

those who avoid the shallows and the deep
will find themselves with no place left to hide
and with no human partner to confide
nor any memories they'd want to keep
but you and i who choose to make the leap
know how and when to take the proper side
and what we knew before we took the ride
is what we take into the final sleep
just so the answer comes before the choice
you make the dancer enter through the door
and bow to each of those who wait to speak
until such time there is a better voice
to say the words that others will adore
and bring to life the happy and the meek

one highest law

we make of love the highest human law
and bend our heads and hearts beneath the axe
these are the matters that no thought could tax
and that have power that will yield to no jaw
the choice is not to be the last catspaw
but to ignore the many pains and wracks
decide that none could be both stern and lax
and overcome the perfect with the flaw
love is the truth of all that we can know
and this is all the fact and all the light
that covers the whole world that we can see
we make this shelter and we make the glow
so that who follows may joy in the sight
and leave the worries and the hopes to be

not being lost

a flame that flickers under the last glass
so much is heard of what we thought we knew
the choice was made to halt and not to pass
a flame that flickers under the last glass

all of the windows look out on the grass
and not one person pauses for the view
a flame that flickers under the last glass
so much is heard of what we thought we knew

as for the ones who told us they were through
we gave them what they asked for and they sang
not any music that had been made new
as for the ones who told us they were through

on a cold morning we might feel the dew
as having both a coldness and a tang
as for the ones who told us they were through
we gave them what they asked for and they sang

the door that closed has made the loudest clang
and frightened those who would have slept the night
the angry are awakened by the bang
the door that closed has made the loudest clang

the loser has been bitten by the fang
and given up without thought of a fight
the door that closed has made the loudest clang
and frightened those who would have slept the night

those who would speak have given up the right
they handed you the gold and kept the brass
knowing their options had become but slight
those who would speak had given up the right

the world is written up in black and white
and laws define the power of ruling class
those who would speak have given up the right
they handed you the gold and kept the brass

lush violins

a solemn closing to a sombre age
or so we hope when the last music's played
but no one sees the frenzy of backstage

some might with honesty the moment gauge
when the last fortress was to us betrayed
a solemn closing to a sombre age

this is the moment when we have to rage
as all the waters down the wall cascade
but no one sees the frenzy of backstage

we call the one with style the final mage
and grant no honours to the old and staid
a solemn closing to a a sombre age

what was once secret's now upon the page
you hope to silently retire and fade
but none one sees the frenzy of backstage

no one would hold this tiger in the cage
still not a fellow rushes up to aid
a solemn closing to a sombre age
but one one sees the frenzy of backstage

esoteric theory

if any honour's left after this crunch
there might be time to write another page
about the ways in which the good engage
but that would be too much for this sad bunch
their only standard is the killing punch
the measure of another dumber age
mistaking the old villain for a sage
while the sly rat has eaten all their lunch
so much is written by the foolish horde
about the means by which you reach the throne
but not a word about an honest art
they take the jester for the noblest lord
assume that what they think is what they own
and leave behind a rotten stinking heart

the patience of a saint

so much would try the patience of a saint
and in the end no one on earth would care
since there would always be a sign of taint

the cure for age is one more lick of paint
it's never hard to make the seeming fair
so much would try the patience of a saint

you might with sentiment the truth acquaint
and with a single heave the matter dare
since there would always be a sign of taint

such tasks are not for the queasy or faint
nor the inhabitants of thinner air
so much would try the patience of a saint

the hero will not hear the least complaint
nor hearken to the ones who say beware
since there would always be a sign of taint

we will move eagerly lacking restraint
knowing that there is little time to spare
so much would try the patience of a saint
since there would always be a sign of taint

rainy thursday

hidden our shadows by the fall of rain
your voices muted as the signals fade
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

old leaves remember none of autumn's pain
the barest branches can promise no shade
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain

the meaning of it all is not arcane
it took a while to smooth and set the grade
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

the decent worker is the slacker's bane
against all hope great armies are arrayed
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain

lovers may walk at evening down the lane
while wiser heads in slower courses stayed
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

as drop by drop the water heads to plain
each will recall the times when they just played
hidden our shadows by the fall of rain
there's no one left who we'd want to abstain

dust and smoke

in all the silences of dust and smoke
we find what's hidden is the truly plain
and all that's secret turns out one more joke

so much we thought was past we now evoke
as we still wait with patience for the rain
in all the silences of dust and smoke

green as the trust in those who were good folk
it now seems russet as the spreading stain
and all that's secret turns out one more joke

what now becomes a better sort of cloak
is given for the earning of true gain
in all the silences of dust and smoke

you think yourself a finer type of bloke
until you're forced to go against the grain
and all that's secret turns out one more joke

these are the remedies you have to croak
as there's no end to horror and to pain
in all the silences of dust and smoke
and all that's secret turns out one more joke

perne in a gyre

the alien qentba on the planet crea
are gentle creatures and when any speak
their messages have much that people seek
but not a one knows just what they might see
with those strange eyes from which the cowards flee
these are not creatures friendly to the meek
but are companions to the horrid freak
and issue flame so far above the sea
there are so many ways to twist a thread
and let a new growth rise up from the spore
while others know how much they have to yearn
the qentba of crea let none ride with dread
but only those who will find out the score
and none but mages ever hope to burn

staying on message

there is no hope of even least denial
errors and mishaps are put on for show
the record states we traded blow for blow
and put the foolish villain up on trial
it does not matter if you spin the dial
there is not one who cannot hope to know
just where and when they have to head below
and who will be forced to accept exile
not one of us who knows just how to bend
before the kind of force that you can bring
to tear apart the scrim that hides the sky
you teach us quickly where we have to send
the ones who learn to squeal and how to sing
and how true glory rises from the lie

above the tulips

your chances come and go like a spring breeze
above the tulips maples still are bare
but all the city seems to be aware
that something's brewing in the mysteries
nature may hide some trick in her chemise
that the best gardener would not think she'd dare
and then send signals out in simplest clear
when we most think to sit and take our ease
on edge of spring we wait as on each night
the stars reveal another sort of chance
and we are given leave to ask for rest
not knowing yet what we may get as right
nor what our steps are in the coming dance
but hoping that each change is for the best

for jeremy at twenty

there are no obstacles on the sacred way
your path was made as smooth as heart could hope
we ask that you remember on this day

life has a healthy share of plots to lay
but we are sure that you've the skill to cope
there are no obstacles on the sacred way

don't let the foolish visions make you stray
a little error and you're down the slope
we ask that you remember on this day

there is a price that each of us must pay
you learn this long before you have to mope
there are no obstacles on the sacred way

you will soon find we aren't allowed to stay
and that for some things we for long time grope
we ask that you remember on this day

there are so many things i have to say
time it turns out is not as long as rope
there are no obstacles on the sacred way
we ask that you remember on this day

boyhood tale

now that the light provides no honest tales
we may be sure that there are hidden doors
peepholes in paintings little secret drawers
things that are hidden in the small details
just to ensure that you'll trip on the rails
not listen to the beggar who implores
your pardon nor remit from the old whores
the costs of all the bullets and the nails
there must be secrets and mysterious lies
the world elsewise would be a duller place
and we would have to face the sun alone
far better that there be agents and spies
reasons to put new cameras in space
and further crimes for each soon to atone

former pain

those are the boundaries of former pain
anguish forgotten and then once revealed
given the shape of some monstrous congealed
abortion that has left behind a stain
and odour of which honest sorts complain
while mould and blight have covered all the field
and not a single fruit the trees will yield
the loser is the only one who'll gain
this victory of all has meant the end
of decency and of the best desire
while maggots feast on what is left of art
there are still those who force us to pretend
that there might come again that divine fire
to wake once more the warmth of human heart

unexpected pride

your vision fails under the weight of cloud
but nothing matters unless you can speak
it seems that even death can make you proud

there is no good that once was not allowed
the deepest essence is not one you'd seek
your vision fails under the weight of cloud

meat on the bone with a small mind endowed
is what you are and that should keep you meek
it seems that even death can make you proud

the ones who came before have all been cowed
by what they saw of glory at the peak
your vision fails under the weight of cloud

so many worlds are hidden under shroud
you think that your experience is unique
it seems that even death can make you proud

the one thing that you thought you had avowed
must in the end be what you could not wreak
your vision fails under the weight of cloud
it seems that even death can make you proud

done by rote

we are too distant from the grinding ice
a world away from the eternal snow
but still we make the winter sacrifice

beyond the north wind there's nothing could entice
our hearts to find what no wise man could know
we are too distant from the grinding ice

we think that our own warmth might still suffice
to keep us safe and guard us with its glow
but still we make the winter sacrifice

we fill the mugs and then rattle the dice
another day spent warding off the blow
we are too distant from the grinding ice

your task is simple and your manner's nice
you do not have to worry for the flow
but still we make the winter sacrifice

our only problem now is the high price
not if the ending will come fast or slow
we are too distant from the grinding ice
but still we make the winter sacrifice

failing our purpose

our hearts and hopes are set on what is true
no matter what the parting words might be
enough for all the magic freight at sea
to sink before it reaches our purview
so much claimed fact turns out just ballyhoo
what's in the show was not on the marquee
what you observe is more than we agree
we call the truly old the rightly new
a scandal once becomes just one more fact
to put within the record and go on
until the book is filled are we may weep
not at the pain but for the lack of tact
the measure of how far we have now gone
and just how little we have left to keep

slippery slope

there is no one who would not hesitate
before such choices as the ones we face
such facts as these no rubber can erase
we choose to blame a silent hateful fate
a lie that we can forge without debate
this deity before whom we can abase
ourselves and claim that there is no disgrace
in saying that we simply could not wait
never believe just what you have been told
by those who claim to have your care in hand
the world is ruled by monsters and by brutes
the smell of shit comes from what looks like gold
honour and honesty have both been banned
and decent folk have found other pursuits

a land of heroes

how the republic stands on decent folk
bright boys and girls in all the schools are told
how glad we are to bear no foreign yoke

in this hard soil the blood of slaves did soak
it brought in bounteous harvests manifold
how the republic stands on decent folk

legend will have it there was one great stroke
delivered by the one we've most extolled
how glad we are to bear no foreign yoke

upon our ranks the frenzied foemen broke
we took the weight of them and we were bold
how the republic stands on decent folk

around the world the hearts of all awoke
our tale is one that all the earth consoled
how glad we are to bear no foreign yoke

now listen while the merry spokesmen croak
announcing that their very word is gold
how the republic stands on decent folk
how glad we are to bear no foreign yoke

out of the dark wood

what in the dark flies flutters and goes out
beyond those trees and so far beyond the river
there is a message left a sign a shout

your heart is what we send what you deliver
is something more that you desire we leave
beyond the simple shard and sharp small sliver

that pierces what we guard and makes us grieve
for what we could not hold and what we left
as blood and water flow out through the sieve

those are the ones who know they are bereft
before we see the flags dip and the pain
of those who fail in their part of the heft

so long have we been waiting for the rain
but no king comes and we cannot now heal
honour and pride both go against the grain

your only task is to adore and kneel
as all the dancers run away and hide
before the sight of all that shiny steel

there is no room for dignity or pride
so much we lost when we gave up our grip
around us now the vicious kindred ride

who do not care for any sound of lip
but want us simply swiftly to obey
their heavy and maleficent proud whip

we call that just another working day
and let the glass crack into many shards
these are the things that get into the way

there is a way but none that the god guards
that each one knows and no one hostile bars
each self considers what justice regards

and in the silence looks up at the stars

proper boundaries

i will not even say who you have named
those are the boundaries of propriety
another era's open anxiety
is what we thought you had disclaimed
but in the morning clearly marked and framed
we find there is still some marked variety
not only to signs of pomp and piety
but to the ones who greater force has tamed
all those who share the magic of a laugh
are not so given to the better choice
as to believe that there is a plain tie
between the lighter and the darker half
but will expect to hear a louder voice
explain just how it happens by and by

so much for thought

what's not recorded we will too soon forget
the weight of memory will sink all light
you can't account for all of that regret

so much of life is ventured on one bet
a universe could vanish in one night
what's not recorded we will too soon forget

icons once painted pass and none will fret
though millions once had clamoured for the sight
you can't account for all of that regret

those who have spoken were not once upset
by all the silences of constant blight
what's not recorded we will too soon forget

the beacon's unlit unblown the cornet
no one would ever know of our last plight
you can't account for all of that regret

not ever spoken of the total debt
that we have owed for all of our delight
what's not recorded we will too soon forget
you can't account for all of that regret

more marvels

more marvels than we wonder at in time
require durations longer than a life
a sense of humour sharper than a knife
and hope that lasts much longer at its prime
so that we do not call each love a crime
mistake the normal signs of growth for strife
and know that all with marks of grief are rife
we chain them up within the bars of rhyme
desires are laid out openly and plain
for those who want to see just how we make
the answer suffice for the world we've got
much will depend on just how much we gain
not on the things that others have to take
on what we do and just what you cannot

honest folk

the way you tell it is always a lie
but when i speak you throw me into gaol
it's honest folk who always get to die

your contrails fill the grey polluted sky
when we speak up you shut down the e-mail
the way you tell it is always a lie

the children hunger and we hear them cry
you tell us that the story is now stale
it's honest folk who always get to die

armed forces are on regular stand-by
the latest enemies we'll soon assail
the way you tell it is always a lie

the well of kindness long ago ran dry
what's left would not sustain a single snail
it's honest folk who always get to die

well was it said that time would not supply
the gap when human warmth and goodness fail
they way you tell it is always a lie
its honest folk who always get to die

terror speaks

there is no sign that we come to a pause
the river flows with no sign of a dam
we draw out of its water not a dram
but others think that not a proper cause
to praise inaction or to start applause
so little time in life for us to cram
our hopes and dreams into this horrid sham
we stop and wonder at the frigid laws
that bind our actions and demand we serve
not with our hands but with our loyal minds
devoting to your kingdom all our arts
such thinking will too swiftly all unnerve
remove the light that all our sight now blinds
and leave untethered all that holds our hearts

measuring oceans

you want to measure oceans with a spoon
and weep when no one gives you reasons why
another man might leap right to the moon

those are the answers of a plain poltroon
we break the wheel upon a butterfly
you want to measure oceans with a spoon

such are the wailings of the last bassoon
beneath the bright stars of a stranger sky
another man might leap right to the moon

eager to dance but not inopportune
the weaver knows just how things go awry
you want to measure oceans with a spoon

what weeds and parasites the trees festoon
mile after mile these tales of earth belie
another man might leap right to the moon

let ancient singers their sad legends croon
while legends vanish in the purpling sky
you want to measure oceans with a spoon
another man might leap right to the moon

drawn into the sun

an eye that's lost is drawn into the sun
no matter what the moment of high cloud
a deeper value's given than was allowed
medals are nice after races are run
but so much has been said and little done
that not a one of us should still be proud
our speak a single word of it out loud
nor claim that of our merit we have won
sharper than knives the teeth of such a beast
as would arise to challenge our just claim
before the hand could touch the final door
there is a time to boast during the feast
of how you might have dashed into the flame
but not a one of you has faced that roar

i do not need to mention

i do not need to mention what was said
about the battle that our fathers fought
so many of our kindred left for dead

those were the moments of the greatest dread
when from above the vultures swooped and sought
i do not need to mention what was said

out masters told us that we needed bread
but as we were the losers we'd get naught
so many of our kindred left for dead

the so-called hero was the swiftest sped
not even time to be hurt or distraught
i do not need to mention what was said

the word once written was not ever read
a bitter lesson we have now been taught
so many of our kindred left for dead

the hardest would was given to the head
it shook out every vestige of good thought
i do not need to mention what was said
so many of our kindred left for dead

proper obsequies

though bird as priest might soon officiate
at ceremonials of the dying sea
the heart is not in what is not to be
dark is the hour when things have turned out late
a moment sooner and we'd paid the freight
but none of the observers could agree
on which of all the sufferers could see
the meaning of the order of the state
no more the hope of those without a home
there lie in gardens no ancestral flower
but darlings of the morning are not there
so much to say about those who still roam
still to lament the passing of their hour
who cannot say that any left would dare

treatment and assurance

a consciousness that can't be fully cured
teaches each one about the coming rift
what we are given is never assured

your choice is one to which you were inured
by powers of avarice and normal thrift
a consciousness that can't be fully cured

those other cousins who were halfway lured
and then found they had all been set adrift
what we are given is never assured

again you wonder what we have procured
and why the last departer loudly sniffed
a consciousness that can't be fully cured

distinct and painful each one that matured
no mortal spirit had received a lift
what we are given is never assured

so no man claims to have felt or endured
what you have thought was but a tiny gift
a consciousness that can't be fully cured
what we are given is never assured

a sort of balance

if we flow with the river none will drown
but none will see the run rise on the day
when the whole year combines to wash away
all that has kept us back and held us down
no one who struggles ought then just to frown
and demand that the anger cease and stay
but join with those who overcame the fray
and place on every head the golden crown
there are some victories that do not count
but those that matter have the higher price
still we who pay it know that any cost
could never equal the complete amount
nor be exact in total nor precise
to ever equal all that we have lost

mistaken decision

none left but those who won't pass through the door
leaders who give no great degrees of hope
a million hours of climbing up that slope
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you do those things that honest folk abhor
the rules are not the thing that matter most
to those for whom the magic is the boast
and still the choice is made to fight the war

a year or two before you see the score
shallow the thought of those who have to hide
but lesser even the rewards of pride
and still the choice is made to fight the war

there was a garden in that place before
you burned it down and left a wasteland sere
there was no need you had the time to spare
and still the choice is made to fight the war

you have to ask us to give so much more
although in truth there's never been the need
the monster speaks in hunger and in greed
and still the choice is made to fight the war

none can it seems an honest time restore
honour has been delivered to its grave
there is no decent moment left to save
and still the choice is made to fight the war

A Sense that the World is Mad

A Sense that the World is Mad
John Maxwell
I am beginning to feel more and more like Scaramouche, who if I remember correctly, was born with a smile on his lips and a sense that the world was mad. The problem is that it is getting harder and harder to smile when confronted by the pipe dreams of ‘Developers’ who seem intent on piling carastrophe on top of disaster on top of débåcle.. What can they be smoking?Two weeks ago, having conceded that the Port Antonio Marina was a misconceived white elephant, the developers unleashed their brand new plan to add to that disaster by building another – an airport on farmland in St Thomas. And then, to add catastrophic lunacy to that inanity, Mr Darryl Vaz, a self-confessed American of Jamaican parentage who claims to be a Member of the Jamaican parliament, unburdened himself of what must be the craziest idea of the century – so far.Deep inside last Sunday’s Observer Business section, Mr Vaz is reported to have uncorked plans to steal for ‘development’ the coastline of Portland to indulge the recherche tastes of other people with more money than sense.The story was headlined “Portland Roads to be reclaimed for development” and said, inter alia “SOME major roads running along the East Portland coastline will soon be reclaimed to allow for development of waterfront properties by both government and private investors, as part of the big tourism plan for that parish.This was disclosed by state minister in the office of the Prime Minister Daryl Vaz, who said a meeting will be held shortly with the National Works Agency (NWA) to finetune the plans.”I cannot imagine why these momentous lunacies have yet not managed to hit the front pages of our newspapers. Perhaps the intention is, as Patterson did with the Doomsday Highway, to spring this idiocy on the population when our minds are occupied with other things, to produce a fait accompli, putting facts on the ground befoire we poor Philistines have woken up to the fact that we have been defrauded, honswoggled and bound hand, foot and pension fund..Roads to be ‘reclaimed’! Reclaimed from what? or reclaimed from whom?
No, Woman! No Cry!
The ancestors of most Jamaicans shed gallons of blood, sweat and tears to arrive at a halfway decent, if somewhat ramshackle democracy. While some of us died or otherwise suffered for the freedom to control our affairs, we were warned by no less a National Hero than Bustamante that ‘Independence is worse than slavery”For the Haitians, Bustamante’s apothegm is clearly relevant. The Americans, aided and abetted by the oh-so-civilised French and the Canadians, among others, are busy making sure that if the Haitians won’t eat excrement, they can at least be forced to eat dirt. Our turn seems to be fast approaching with enormous help from such as Percival James Patterson – the last – who declared that the law is not a shackle.And if the law is not a shackle, why, public opniion and human rights must be equally dispensable!Development is not for the poor, as the United Nations and its nearly 200 members declared in Rio de Janeiro in 1992. Redefined by Thatcher, Reagan and their disciples, ‘Development’ is for the rich. They have the right to impose – in the sacred name of ‘Development’ – any gimmick they can dream up (or find in Architectural Digest) to make as much ‘wealth’ as they can mismanage in the stated hope that some of the crumbs will – in due time – trickle down to the rest of us.I want to tell them a secret: Privilege and wealth are even better served in Dubai. Go Deh!
Rebel Music
As we celebrate Bob Marley’s sixtieth birthday and his music is the obbligato to all Jamaica’s tourism publicity, the culture from which Marley sprang is increasingly sequestered behind high walls protecting us from our landscapes, our sea, our beaches and our dreams.Increasingly, development is a gimmick – aka ‘attraction’ – built on land captured from the people and gated off from them – as in Cartade’s Long Mountain favelas for the rich. The beaches on which I sported as a child, in Duncans, Montego Bay Ocho Rios and Portland are increasingly being captured, illegally and without compensation much less consent, and barred to any who does not possess US dollars or a credit card denominated in a foreign currency.Last week the Gleaner and its radio outlet, Power 106, regaled us with happy stories of the architectural and environmental delights of that kitcshy excrescence known as Bahia Principe – a concrete statement of the contempt in which developers hold the people of Jamaica.There, at a captured officially designated Public Beach called Pear Tree Bottom, the tourists disport themselves on sand illegally imported from ‘God Knows Where’ underlain by concrete . Meanwhile what’s left of the old beach receives the full complement of the bowels of the European bourgeoisie who fondly imagine that they are in Jamaica. Their excrement is all they leave behind. The regulations and demands of Jamaican Law are ignoredJournalism is a public trust they say – and the Gleaner is more fond of saying it than most. .As I understand it, that means that journalists and the people who own them are expected to respect the Public Interest, that curious abstraction in the name of which public amenity is destroyed in order to save it from the negligent multitude. One would have imagined that a respect for the public trust would have impelled the Gleaner and its minions to go further than the PR tour and cocktails, down to the beach, behind the unsightly and illegal black plastic fence and into the wetlands beside the hotel. At least they could ask about the noxious odours emanating from the western side of the hotel. The beauty about the trade winds is that on Jamaica’s north coast one does not smell the sewage if one is to the east (windward) of it. at least during the day. And at night you are protected by air-conditioning. When the wind changes during the day, the foreign guests are, no doubt, informed that the smell comes from the natives next door. Soon enough however, if the developers have their way, no one can be windward of the stench of one-eyed, harebrained, self-aggrandizing and unsustainable development. Then, they will not only be able to smell the fruits of their labours but they will also be able to understand the culture of Bob Marley.Bon Appetit.COPYRIGHT©2008 JOHN MAXWELLjankunnu@gmail.com

ballade of victory

who wants to echo the most moral sigh
of those who in the morning fade away
without a chance of hearing the reply
as all the darkness slowly becomes grey
another silence earns its proper pay
in shaping what we do not care to know
of all the forms that nature might bestow
upon the places where we might reside
whether from high above or down below
this world is where we bury all our pride

too many fools have listened to the lie
and thought the hardest task was simple play
their faces now are hidden from the sky
and they cannot their horror now betray
who have been taken out of human way
we in our turn have many miles to go
beside the river that won't cease its flow
there is no place to run and none to hide
we have no chance to escape hungry crow
this world is where we bury all our pride

an idiot might sometime dignify
all means by which the many go astray
but such things do not please the aging eye
of those who have seen many a bitter day
and understand the meaning of each ray
of failing light which no one could forgo
as dying millions wait the killing blow
and high above the lazy vultures glide
no footprints are left in the sand or snow
this world is where we bury all our pride

prince in your face we've seen the final glow
of nuclear light and seen the dead chateaux
palaces barracks cities none abide
all order now has met its overthrow
the highest honour has fallen most low
this world is where we bury all our pride

to utter the right name

there is a way to utter the right name
yet none can honestly declare the fact
only the truthful can accept the blame

too many blackguards eager to declaim
turn concrete meaning into vague abstract
there is a way to utter the right name

the hooligan will parade without shame
but honest people are always attacked
only the truthful can accept the blame

shallow the ones who demand all acclaim
with thought of consequence they're never wracked
there is a way to utter the right name

there is no way to honour or to fame
for those who still possess both sense and tact
only the truthful can accept the blame

the wildest creature will feign being tame
it's always easy to trick and distract
there is a way to utter the right name
only the truthful can accept the blame

resume the mask

no matter what the role we take no part
in what you think of as your pain or shock
against your portals many choose to knock
but walls will hold out both the bolt and dart
we load no cargo on the waiting cart
and no ship waits for us at the last dock
the key is waiting to be placed in lock
for kingdoms wait upon the fragile heart
left to itself the world will soon elide
past all the injuries you might inflict
and find itself some other kind of task
there is some manner by which we divide
the shards which into corners had been kicked
revive the victims and resume the mask

end of summer

choices never had been ordinary
until the strike fell sharply from the cloud
and then the city was an ossuary

we did not enter the monastery
to hide our faces from the milling crowd
choices never had been ordinary

so many horrors we had to bury
signs of all the crimes we were allowed
and then the city was an ossuary

bitter cold has eaten at the berry
with emptiness have we been all endowed
choices never had been ordinary

cursing those who had a while been merry
did for a passing moment please the cowed
and then the city was an ossuary

the fee is paid all must take the ferry
a whole society covered by a shroud
choices never had been ordinary
and then the city was an ossuary

not just a part

if what i say should come to matter much
those who would listen hold up to each ear
chains that close tightly when free words appear
and keep the heart and mind firmly in clutch
there are some people who would say that such
concern means that we may have held too dear
a thing that might jam any working gear
and quickly put the mind right out of touch
listen to those who say that when we mourn
the tears that fall do not produce a bit
of anything that can redeem our choice
but since the world is given when we're born
there may be more than any might admit
and something might be said in a small voice

the truest beauty

what time we give to echoes from the heart
is taken from the horrors of the dark
the truest beauty is the sign of art

life gives us signs of sorrow from the start
but we can't know this just as we embark
what time we give to echoes from the heart

what is divine comes from what we impart
laying our course between the rat and shark
the truest beauty is the sign of art

another sigil sold in open mart
will indicate that some things are not stark
what time we give to echoes from the heart

a record that's been kept in place apart
contains the hope that's in a chance remark
the truest beauty is the sign of art

not for these efforts are we accounted smart
but that we raised in you the greatest spark
what time we give to echoes from the heart
the truest beauty is the sign of art

intuitions rise

i do not know how intuitions rise
in other people whom i have not met
so many things i work hard to forget
keep out of sight and learn how to despise
but not so much as those who would apprise
all of the folk who would take up the bet
and then run off before the yolk had set
such sights do not soon come before your eyes
yet if not known the emblems yet unseen
have to be built up in the waiting mind
by those who learn to speak in sacred voices
of all the massive powers that have yet been
in all those places where they were confined
and how though in deep pain mankind rejoices

night limits

night limits what we see till when we wake
the simplest clarity may lead astray
too many good things left here to forsake

the river feeds into a silent lake
birds gather by the margin of a bay
night limits what we see till when we wake

all knowledge is compounded by mistake
another world hides within the clay
too many good things left here to forsake

upon the shore a single wave will break
until that time you may yet have your say
night limits what we see till when we wake

ours to reform what you will have to make
there are some stories better told by day
too many good things left here to forsake

not in the time allotted would each ache
even if we allowed it go away
night limits what we see till when we wake
too many good things left here to forsake

one golden dawn

perhaps we'll get to see one golden dawn
the shape of things not turned into a pain
worlds not destroyed for temporary gain
a light the glow of which we will not scorn
such things as we have dreamt since we were born
a cleansing of the old and noisome stain
an effort not expended all in vain
an honest oath that shall not be forsworn
so that the truth be told and hate be scorned
we face the fire and say the words of praise
before the altars of the silent god
these are the matters honest unadorned
that will be with you to the final days
when we're forgotten underneath the sod

a second's brief concern

you choose the path and march without a turn
that's all it takes to show how you are made
to go without a second's brief concern

others might have a lot to teach or learn
aware of what is coming down the grade
you choose the path and march without a turn

we watch the water swiftly steam and churn
then take our place in the open arcade
to go without a second's brief concern

far off in the fast-growing beds of fern
small animals will know to be afraid
you choose the path and march without a turn

a purpose set to work and so to earn
not gold or silver but the ends of trade
to go without a second's brief concern

no simple fire yet in each heart must burn
a flame that guides us on the last parade
you choose the path and march without a turn
to go without a second's brief concern

what the villain said

so many visions held within each head
no chance to tell them all within the hour
you get your chance to play into the red

the truly evil will poison your bread
if you allow them one small chance at power
so many visions held within each head

another kind will fill the pipes with lead
and claim that you have emptied out the tower
you get your chance to play into the red

for your fool sake so many fools have bled
and they turn out to be just one more shower
so many visions held within each head

the shrub you watered with your tears is dead
dust fills what should have been a happy bower
you get your chance to play into the red

you walk a league and find courage has fled
someone will come the passages to scour
so many visions held within each head
you get your chance to play into the red

fighting kind

not owed to chance but to the deeper view
of where to go and how to cast the die
what goes to past or future in the eye
will pass without a note from white to blue
eager to calm more eager to renew
the charge to argue what we might apply
to those not happy with the open lie
a breath is taken in the rising dew
tragic the marvel of the choice denied
by those who see the mountain as a wall
not as a challenge to the glowing mind
nor the fit target of the youthful pride
there is a thing that keeps their hearts too small
and they do not respect the fighting kind

at the bump of story

at the bump of story and rawest fact
so many angles to break up the light
not one of you can handle it with tact

the mechanism is what we all had lacked
but chances we will win still remain slight
at the bump of story and rawest fact

you thought you won but found you had been sacked
and were thrown out quite helpless in the night
not one of you can handle it with tact

the crisis peaks right when you are attack
edit's very hard to struggle through the blight
at the bump of story and rawest fact

replace the name and still the thing is cracked
what once was black cannot just be turned white
not one of you can handle it with tact

you stood up once and you were swiftly smacked
it does not matter that you had the right
at the bump of story and rawest fact
not one of you can handle it with tact

into the night

rush out into the night and there are stars
spangling the sky and deepening the dark
marking the time when we have to embark

such times we have remind us of those jars
the dogs that launch themselves with fierce bark
rush out into the night and there are stars

each way we look we see the rigid bars
choices before us seem evil and stark
life places upon each its smudgy mark
rush out into the night and there are stars

no more the moment

no more the moment when the breath was heard
a longer second than one would have thought
yet what we find is one more witty bird

we do not feel the sentiments are blurred
but have not paid for all that you have bought
no more the moment when the breath was heard

one was too eager one more was deterred
one in the traps of his own mind was caught
yet what we find is one more witty bird

to other goals the young are always spurred
what was once valued now must count for naught
no more the moment when the breath was heard

with all the wisest we have now concurred
about the gap between the is and ought
yet what we find is one more witty bird

you make the claim about which we demurred
have won the battle which no one has fought
no more the moment when the breath was heard
yet what we find is one more witty bird

between the yesterdays

between the yesterdays there is no past
our history is turned into a sale
product and seller that's the only tale
there was just nothing and then came the blast
the stencil's cut and the die has been cast
we wrap the cloth up in a neat square bale
all roughness hidden by a gauzy veil
with a good presence fortune will be vast
we could state facts but that would be so dry
no one would care about making things true
the only thing that matters is the cash
so let the audience lap up every lie
bring on the meretricious into view
and turn the whole world into just more trash

snivel

hidden green pokes through the heavy grey
a sign of nothing more than winter holds
a share of grief within its chilly folds
there is no hope of peace during the day
even the silence has something to say
about the air thick with spores of moulds
the messenger of yet more chills and colds
and yet we venture these climes to essay
to sneeze and snivel is the human fate
reminder of our limits and our weak
bodies lest pride take us so very high
that we forget that we did not create
the bones that even now rattle and creak
and give our soaring hopes the constant lie

night watch

as eyes are fixed upon the falling star
nothing else marks the ending of the age
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

between the past and present there's no bar
just motion of the turning of the page
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star

a rapid tune that's played on the guitar
excites a sort of urgent cleansing rage
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

to save the moment leave the door ajar
to ease the entrance of the needed mage
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star

when it shall strike it will leave quite a scar
but that is nothing to the clowns on stage
it seems to commonplace and yet bizarre

that is the story as it's been so far
the one who's done the job has earned the wage
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

a further exploration

there is the world below us round and warm
each cloud each sea welcomes happy eye
we know the journey over and we sigh

so much to build and fit to human form
the ways of our approval to apply
there is the world below us round and warm

we bring the unknown safe into the norm
tame the uncertain under a new sky
make different nature to our will comply
there is the world below us round and warm

certificate of appreciation

no matter what the fool will seem to win
there is no price that you would want to pay
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

around each head the world must seem to spin
no one has ever given thought to play
no matter what the fool will seem to win

what was important is now in the bin
from all that's done the mind's begun to stray
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

the calmest water's broken by a fin
fear has invaded our most secret bay
no matter what the fool will seem to win

the hero has to take it on the chin
and fall down dead without any delay
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

you face the future with a painful grin
someone has told you it's the proper way
no matter what the fool will seem to win
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

the distance travelled

the distance travelled is never complete
we never reach the end because we find
that start and finish are somehow entwined
all understanding is a huge conceit
belief that we can tell just what is meet
that the most hard and cruel is truly kind
that those who wield the whip have been maligned
what seems most brilliant is just more deceit
the pause of years turns out to be just show
for those who keep a heart of honest gold
but all the rest pay a much higher price
to live within the ambit of that glow
wondering if they can their side uphold
by some superior means or fair device

functions of maps

the map recalls each step that once we took
the traveller who knows has often told
so many facts not written in the book

trees that year-round draw sustenance from brook
leaves that have not known the bite of cold
the map recalls each step that once we took

around the hill road turns in a sharp hook
the view is one that other folk consoled
so many facts not written in the book

the car that on the morning overtook
our stumbling feet that we in pain cajoled
the map recalls each step that once we took

harsh winds that seemed to penetrate each nook
and made us suddenly feel weak and old
so many facts not written in the book

race down the mountain and take one last look
as the bright sun distributes its first gold
the map recalls each step that once we took
so many facts not written in the book

leather and prunella

wind-twisted branches hide whole worlds of time
hidden from us by all the ways we fade
as in our grown-up lives we are arrayed
to deal with all the toils of pain and crime
what was once simple joyful all in prime
becomes a matter just of cash in trade
in deepest memory the meaning frayed
what had been once the magical sublime
now what we do demands a constant rule
measured by means that are no more than dust
and we rush onwards hoping for the best
each of us thinking that we're just a tool
giving the worthless wholly unearned trust
not knowing whether they will meet the test

under the dimmer stars

under the dimmer stars wild creatures dance
the rules of courtesy require exchange
between those meetings that we prearrange
and those that happen by the merest chance
each looks on as the hungry run and prance
knowing that none would dare fright or estrange
this is the one night when the laws can change
and none will look at the matings askance
in daylight all returns to proper wild
forest shade is as red in tooth and claw
as any son of hobbes might ever know
but on the proper night the smallest child
knows that an older and a kinder law
shields every being from the deadly blow

Genocide a la bonne femme John Maxwell

Genocide a la bonne femme
John Maxwell
We have some great news for dieters this week!
The Haitians, with a little help from the Americans, the French and the Canadians, have produced a solution to the obesity crisis that now threatens western civilisation.
Haiti’s great and good friends in Washington, Paris and Ottawa have, at last, after several years of hard, grinding effort, managed to create the condition known as ‘critical mess’ [sic] allowing the Haitians to produce a diet which — unlike any other slimming solution — is absolutely guaranteed to work. Other slimming solutions have always had one weak spot: no matter how low-calorie the diet is, dieters can always defeat the purpose by overeating.
The new Haitian diet makes that impossible!
No matter how much you eat you will not get fat !!
This is sensational news!!!
Here for the information of our avid readers is the recipe, direct from the street vendors of Port au Prince
One caveat: the special ingredient may have to be imported from Haiti. We haven’t yet found a gourmet specialty shop in North America which stocks the main ingredient — Glaise de Plateau Central — a special kind of clay from the Central Plateau of Haiti. This clay is yellowish in colour and the best grades contain lots of healthy calcium, guaranteed to make your bones stronger even as your too, too solid flesh melts away.
Method
Take enough Glaise de Plateau Central and dry it in the sun.
Pound (in a mortar) and sieve the dried glaise, to remove any small stones, twigs, insect parts, bird droppings or other visible impurities.
Add a little water, enough to make a soft dough
Add a little fat and a soupçon of salt (gros sel, pounded fine)
Mix all together forming small — say 2 inch — cookies.
Expose to the sun on a zinc sheet (beaten as flat as possible)
When dry your mud pies are ready to eat.
Bon appetit!!!
It may sound better in French but it is genocide in any language
‘And so say all of us!’
The Haitians are giving new meaning to the phrase ‘dirt poor’.
Four years after the Americans, Canadians and French beheaded democracy in Haiti it is now clear that a Final Solution is in sight for the 200 year old Haitian problem.
Almost exactly three years ago , on January 30, 2005, I wrote in this column in this paper about the world’s commemoration of the liberation of the Auschwitz murder factory sixty year before
‘Elie Weisel, a survivor of the Nazi Holocaust against the Jews, said eloquently:
“In those times those who were in the death camps felt not only tortured and murdered by the enemy, but also tortured and murdered by what they considered to be the world’s silence and indifference .”
‘ “ … Those who committed the crimes were not vulgar, underworld thugs, but men with high positions in government, academia, industry and medicine.” Weisel said.
I wrote then: ‘The world is remembering Auschwitz and the Holocaust. It is not paying any notice to the 200 year Holocaust still underway in Haiti. There too, the people in hazard must feel tortured and murdered by the indifference of a world conned into believing that the high-minded leaders of the United States, France, Canada and Brazil have the interest of the Haitian people at heart when their agents torture, murder, maim and rape Haitians for no better reason than that they support their democratically elected and unconstitutionally removed President, Jean Bertrand Aristide.’
That was in 2005.
Since then the Haitians have continued to languish in suffering. They have had their leaders kidnapped, tortured and murdered, innocent women and children have been killed by the UN occupation forces working to eliminate the enemies of the Haitian ruling elite, the destruction of Haitian democratic organisation meant the death of thousands from hurricane, floods and other natural disasters, and they have waited for hours in the heat of the sun to cast their votes hoping that those votes would have meant a better life for them, or at least a chance for a better life.
That hasn’t happened.
Haiti is still paying for the foreign aid gormandised by the Duvaliers and their allies and they still have no roads, no hospitals, and their medical school started by Aristide with the aid of the Cubans is now the site of the barracks of the occupying forces.
These Haitians are the people who helped the Americans win their independence, destroyed the Americans ambitions of Napoleon, destroyed slavery and accelerated the abolition of the slave trade.
They are guilty on all counts and obviously deserve to be punished. They inhabit one of those places Mr Bush called ‘the dark corners of the world.’
Three years ago, at the Holocaust commemoration the US vice president Mr Cheney delivered himself of these words:
” …these great evils of history were perpetuated not in some remote, uncivilised part of the world, but in the very heart of the civilised world. … Men without conscience are capable of any cruelty the human mind can imagine. Therefore we must teach every generation the values of tolerance and decency and moral courage. And in every generation, free nations must maintain the will, the foresight and the strength to fight tyranny and spread the freedom that leads to peace.”
And so say all of us! And so say all of us!! And so say all of us !!!
Meanwhile, the Haitians eat dirt.
Gimmick Development
Caribbean culture — the product of a tiny proportion of the world’s people, is awesome. We have produced Jean Jacques Dessalines, Marcus Garvey, Fidel Castro and Norman Manley, Capablanca and George Headley, Alexandre Dumas, Arthur Lewis and Derek Walcott, Ernesto Lecuona, Bob Marley and the Mighty Sparrow, Karl Parboosingh and Cecil Baugh, Colin Powell and Malcolm X to name only a few who have changed the world. Visitors to the region, especially to Jamaica, are unlikely to discover any of this.
Caribbean culture is the magnet that draws foreign visitors to these countries but once they get here, they could be anywhere.
They don’t eat Caribbean food or meet Caribbean people or hear any but the most formulaic, tired Caribbean music.
There are exceptions of course. But Caribbean tourism is largely not a Caribbean product. The people who are the stewards of the flame that draws the visitors have very little part in the industry. In Jamaica the people are losing their beaches and even their landscapes to so called ‘developments’ which accord no respect nor pay attention to their Jamaican context.
The Jamaica of song and story is replaced by petting zoos featuring captive camels parakeets and dolphins and other exotica imported from other places.
‘Development’ in Jamaica follows the maxim quoted in the 1954 World Bank Report on Jamaica: “In Jamaica, the absolute ownership of land means in practice the absolute right of the owner to ruin the land in his own way.” These days one does not even have to be the absolute owner. If, like Robert Cartade, one can persuade the right people one can get permission to destroy Hope Gardens and if the ‘proles’ protest too much, Long Mountain instead. If you are the government you can pour concrete and sterilise an area half the size of Hanover to build a Doomsday Highway that, as I predicted, will be impossible to pay for. We can try to rescue disastrous developments like the Port Antonio Marina by making an even bigger bet on a new airport. (for flying yachts?) We can destroy Falmouth so that financiers can make millions from cruise ships before they are sunk by the price of petroleum in five or ten years.
We can destroy Kingston Harbour by pollution or by dredging and we are now told that the parish of Portland is so beautiful and so attractive that it must be saved for foreigners and covered with villas and other attractions which will change it into Las Vegas by the sea.
The latest ‘development’ proposals for St Thomas mean that the people will give up some of the most valuable farmland in Jamaica for our fourth — fourth! international airport. Jamaica already has one mile of roadway for every square mile of land. We will now have one international airport for every thousand square miles of land or one international airport for every 200 square miles of reasonably level land.
And all this is to be done without consultation with the Jamaican people whose sacrifice is essential for these ‘developments’. Although we are bound by the Treaty of Rio, by the Cartagena Convention and other national and international laws, the people of Jamaica will be asked to yield their treasure as the Arawaks/Tainos were ‘asked’ to yield theirs.
“I claim this land in the name of Development!” So There!
Give us a break.
Endnote: Is it just me? Or is anyone else disturbed by the heavy promotion of the film “Vantage Point” on CNN in concert with news reports and programmes about the US party presidential primaries. ‘Vantage Point” is about the assassination of an American President, and the promos, especially when they follow Barack Obama political advertisements, give me the creeps.
Copyright©John Maxwell
jankunnu@gmail.com